A Very Merry Teen Wolf Christmas
by NoTimeToStop
Summary: For their first annual Christmas party, the Pack decides to play a game of Secret Santa. Gifts are exchanged, and one lovely girl receives a special gift from a special boy. (Contains my OTP, Stydia, as well as elements of Scallison, Isallison, Scira, and Dackson). Written in five parts; includes Pack humor and fun. Happy Holidays!
1. Secret Santa

**A Very Merry Teen Wolf Christmas**

 **Part One: Secret Santa**

The Pack Christmas party had been Scott's idea. He thought it would be a good way to strengthen Pack relations – and a good chance to have a little fun, especially in the face of all the supernatural craziness they had been dealing with lately. He wanted to set a good example as the Alpha. Besides, his mother was working on Christmas Eve – _again_ – and he didn't want to spend the best night of the year alone. He had spent more than one holiday with the Stilinskis, and while he knew he would be welcome there again, Sheriff Stilinski was working the graveyard shift that night, and Stiles' place would be just as empty as his own. Neither boy wanted to spend the night overly aware of the silence and void, the sons of single parents – products of an absent father who could never be bothered to send his only child anything more than a Christmas card with twenty dollars ("Gee, thanks, Dad") and a dead mother several years cold in her grave.

Scott wanted to be surrounded by people he cared about; he wanted his home filled with friends, food, decorations, and laughter. He wanted to feel the merriment people often associated with Christmases spent with loved ones and family. He wanted to create his own personal Hallmark movie scene.

His Pack was more than his 'gang,' his 'flock,' or his 'responsibility.' They were his family – the best family he could have ever asked for. If he believed in Santa Claus – which he hadn't since age nine (coincidentally the same year his father had left) – he might have been tempted to ask him for something sentimental, like people who loved him and would never leave. But he didn't need a fat man in a red suit for that. He had everything he could ever want.

Scott loved the eclectic group of people who comprised his Pack – were-canines, hunters, banshees, humans, all (yes, even the kanima). He would readily give his life for any of them. No doubts. No regrets. No hesitations.

The more Scott contemplated hosting a Christmas party, the more the idea excited him. He could buy snacks, dig out some old records, organize some games. He would make this the most awesome Christmas ever! It was exactly what the Pack needed – a bit of good cheer and friendship, some quality bonding time without the added intensity of life-threatening danger. Isaac, Derek, and Malia didn't have families to spend the holidays with; Allison's mother had died; Lydia's parents had split up. If Scott could raise their spirits, send a little love their way, then why not?

Stiles thought the party was a terrible idea. There would be, he claimed, _WAY_ too much sexual tension in one room. They'd be lucky if the night didn't end with someone being sent to the hospital – or worse. But Scott would not be dissuaded. He had that big, goofy grin on his face that Stiles knew meant Scott was beyond reasoning.

Scott's invitations were met with varying reactions from the Pack: excitement and enthusiasm, surprise and derisive laughter, a flat and simple "no" (from Derek Hale, Mr. Were-Grinch himself). Allison, unsurprisingly, greeted Scott's suggestion with the most zeal. Before she had moved to Beacon Hills, she had often attended her friends' elaborate and lavish holiday parties. Secret Santa was her idea. She had played it, a few years ago, with a group of kids from her archery club. The experience had been a lot of fun, especially when everyone opened their gifts and guessed who had purchased them. She was extra excited to be playing with the Pack; she cared more deeply for each member than she had ever cared for any other friends in her life combined. Plus, she knew they were in for hilarity, depending on whose name each Pack member drew.

Allison coerced Lydia into helping her, and together the female Dynamic Duo effectively took the party planning out of Scott's hands. They delegated tasks, decorations, and food. Scott essentially had to provide only the venue and necessary hosting holiday cheer. They would manage the music, the agenda, the endless supply of soda and salty snacks, and the Secret Santa. Allison acquired a guest list from Scott, and hunted each person down for their RSVP (under Lydia's ready glare, who could refuse?). On a piece of fancy Christmas stationary, Allison wrote each person's name in elegant cursive. Nine in total: Scott, Lydia, Stiles, Isaac, Jackson, Malia, Kira, Derek, and, of course, herself. She cut the paper in perfect rectangles, folded each slip, and shuffled the names together in an old cookie tin.

Lydia was relegated to tin-holder, while Allison carried a blue spiral-bound notebook with a snowman on the cover. When each pack member drew a name, she silently glanced at the slip of paper, and wrote the receiver's name next to the giver's. She scrawled clearly and legibly, though she was the only person who would see the sheet, with a red glitter pen with a Santa Claus on top. He swayed on a spring with every stroke.

Allison alone would know each person's Secret Santa. She thought having a master record would be a good idea – in case someone lost their slip of paper (Stiles) or forget they were supposed to buy a present (Jackson), or names needed to be shuffled around due to unforeseen circumstances (though there would be absolutely _zero_ trading), or if someone needed ideas. She hoped the Pack would be creative and use their heads. She out-lawed the giving of cash and gift-cards; she wasn't letting anyone take the easy way out.

Being the sole bearer of this secret knowledge gave Allison a thrill and a delicious sense of control. Everyone (except Jackson, who only liked presents when they were being given to _him_ ) showed enough interest to boost Allison's confidence. There were a few grumblings and groans, a couple amused smirks, but otherwise everyone was content.

Scott and Stiles were the last to draw names. Two slips of paper were nestled in the hat. One in blue ink read, "Allison." The other, in purple ink, read "Lydia." It was a weird, but happy, coincidence. Allison smiled, and motioned for Lydia to hold out the tin. This was about to get interesting. Very interesting. Stiles drew first, with a typical sarcastic quip and his usual lopsided grin that concealed an eager, nervous energy. He mixed the two papers between his long fingers, reached for one, paused, changed his mind, and slowly withdrew the other. He read the name, his eyes widening and then softening. Allison knew immediately without looking at the name; she could read it in his face. A fresh wave of excitement coursed through her belly, warm and tingly. _Lydia,_ she wrote beside Stiles' name, musing happily to herself that their names looked good together.

That just left… Scott withdrew the final slip of paper and smiled privately. He re-folded the page and slipped it into his front jeans' pocket. He looked so delighted, Allison didn't have the heart to remind him that she already knew whose name he had drawn. She was intrigued, glad, and more than a little nervous to see what he would get. A lot could be revealed with a single gift.

She wondered briefly if Secret Santa had been a bad idea.

The real stress of Christmas began now.


	2. Mall Madness

**Part** **Two** : **Mall Madness**

December 23rd. Saturday. The mall was chaos. Stressed last-minute shoppers rushed from store to store, grabbing items off the shelves without really knowing what they were, and not caring about the price. Lydia and Allison walked arm-in-arm ahead, coloring shopping bags dangling from their wrists. Scott and Stiles followed behind. Scott had picked up a couple gift ideas for his mother. Before Scott had started working part-time for Deaton at the veterinary clinic, the trees under the present all read Scott's name. If he wanted to buy his mother a present, he'd have to borrow the money from her. In the end, she'd end up with twenty less dollars and something useless. No matter what the box contained, she gushed over it like Scott had presented her with a mink coat or pearl earrings, hugging and kissing him. "It's just what I wanted," she'd claim with a smile, taking a bracelet made of beads and string or a scented candle or fridge magnets out of crinkly tissue paper. Now that he had money of his own, he was going to make sure his mother received plenty of Christmas presents every December 25th for the rest of her life.

"I can't believe you haven't bought your Secret Santa present yet," Scott tutted, shaking his head. He had ordered his present online two weeks ago; he couldn't wait to see Allison's face when she opened it.

"I haven't found the right thing yet."

"Just buy her a bottle of perfume or something. I'm sure she'd appreciate it."

Stiles' wrinkled his nose. "Oh, like you would have bought Allison _just_ perfume. Where is the thought behind that? I don't want something…you know."

Scott raised an eyebrow. "No. I don't think 'I know.'" How could Stiles explain it? He didn't want to buy Lydia anything that concerned itself with appearance and vanity (she obviously didn't need any assistance in that department, he thought), and he didn't want to give her something impersonal, like a cardigan or a pair of mittens (though he liked the thought of keeping her lovely hands warm). Chocolates, flowers, jewelry, and cute teddy bears with fuzzy hearts and plush puppies with satiny bows could never go wrong, but there wasn't anything special about those gifts. Nothing that would prove that he _knew_ Lydia, that he truly saw her. None of those could effectively communicate without words just how he felt about Lydia. Having lived with only his father since the death of his mother, he wasn't versed in the kind of gifts a woman usually desired, but he knew it wasn't any of the things he had already seen. He was looking and waiting. He couldn't explain it to Scott, but he felt that when he saw the right gift, he would immediately and instinctively just _know_.

"Whatever I buy her, it needs to be perfect."

"Look!" Lydia cried, pointing towards a colorful kiosk. Hundreds of unique Christmas tree ornaments hung on hooks; there was a machine to one side, allowing customers to personalize their ornaments with names, dates, or special little messages. To the other side, stood an artificial Christmas tree, its evergreen branches reaching towards the ceiling. The sunlight filtering through the skylight radiated its boughs and made its decorations – a selection of the kiosk's best merchandise. Beside the tree, next to an old-fashioned cash registered, sat an old woman knitting a sock in a rocking chair. _Click, click, click_ , her needles clacked, as she glided forward and back. Her ruby lips rested in a small, content smile.

Lydia pulled Allison toward the booth. "Look at this one!" She dangled a lovely figure skater from her index finger. "Isn't she pretty?"

Allison nodded. She lifted one of a sweet puppy inside a stocking. "Why does this remind me of Isaac?"

Lydia smiled and pointed to a frog ornament, a golden crown perched on its slimy brow. "This one reminds me of Jackson."

"Then this one" – a bulldog ornament wearing a scowl and a spiked collar – "must be Derek." The girls dissolved into fits of laughter. Scott joined them. "What's so funny?" The girls showed him their discoveries, and the trio laughed as they examines the merchandise.

"Hey, Stiles, you should totally get this for your dad…Stiles?" For some reason, Stiles had not joined them. He was standing several feet away from the kiosk, intensely watching a donation kettle being manned by an ancient but jolly Santa Claus and a sweet little girl dressed as an elf. Whenever anyone dropped money into their kettle, Santa wished them a hearty "Merry Christmas!" and his little helper handed the person a candy cane.

At that moment, Santa was engaged in an enthusiastic conversation with a young college student about the necessity of social justice, and the way human needs were being met in the World. The shy elf stared in wonder at the beautiful woman who spoke so eloquently and passionately, using words she did not understand, but which impressed both her and the old man, who had a twinkle in his eye. Thus at that moment, both Santa, elf, and student were deeply enthralled and distracted, that they were not aware of the man who sauntered casually up to their kettle. Subtly, he withdrew his right hand from his jacket pocket, and plunged into the kettle. Instead of releasing, his hand clamped around several larger bills and transferred them into his pocket.

With all the hustle and bustle of harried holiday shoppers, no one noticed this despicable act. Except Stiles; the son of the town sheriff, who had been taught from a young age how to recognize the signs of liars, cheaters, troublemakers, and thieves. Typically Stiles alerted the proper parties or authorities in these situations, being very selective about which incidents to involve himself as (which had been too many, and too dangerous, as of late), but he couldn't let this guy go. Jerks like this made him sick. Losers who victimized the good for their own benefit. Stealing from charity on Christmas! How much lower could a person get?

Scott had taken a couple steps toward Stiles, after he had called his friend's name without response, when Stiles suddenly dropped everything and bolted. He ran across the hallway, nearly knocking over a candy display. Scott and the girls watched in shock as Stiles tackled a grown man to the floor. The man shouted obscenities, and for a brief moment no one moved. Everyone had stopped to stare at the wild boy who had attacked an innocent shopper. What was this – Black Friday?

Security seemed to appear out of thin air. They rushed to Stiles, yanking him and the man off the ground, restraining them both. "What the hell is the matter with you, kid?" A guard, his high forehead peaked by hair loss, demanded. The color of his uniform was more faded than his partner's, and he had a walkie talkie strapped to his belt. He had worked this job over twenty years, and while he had witnessed plenty of mischief and craziness around this time of year, he had never seen anything like this.

"He's. A. Thief." The boy panted. "Check his. Pockets."

The senior security guard, whose name was bill, motioned for the man to turn out his pockets. They contained a battered Playboy lighter, a couple crumpled cigarettes, a driver's license soon to expire, two quarters, and a wad of loose bills. Nearly a hundred dollars. Odd, but not necessarily proof. Lots of people didn't carry wallets.

Stiles pointed at the donation kettle. "He stole from charity."

The little elf checked inside the kettle, and whispered to Santa. He took a look himself, and nodded. They couldn't prove it for certain, but the kettle definitely contained less money. "I saw the whole thing, Bill!" The old woman from the kiosk had shuffled over to them, and she put a arthritic hand on Stiles' shoulder. "I saw that scoundrel take the money. I was going to yell out, but before I could this fine young man was rushing across the mall and took him down. Very brave, if you ask me! Very bold action! This boy is a hero."

Several bystanders clapped, and Stiles blushed. Aware they were making a scene, Bill shooed the spectators on their way. He ushered all involved persons into the security office to sort out this mess - but not before the passionate student, calling upon great philosophers of old, gave thief and officer a piece of her mind. Lydia, Allison, and Scott waited outside the office anxiously. When Stiles was free to go, the old woman from the kiosk – her name, as it turned out, was Donna – pulled him aside for a moment, and asked him back to her kiosk.

"I am a firm believer," she said, "that one good deed deserves another." She selected an ornament not from the merchandise, but from the tree set-up behind her chair. A crystal angel, exact in all her features from her lovely face to the foot of her ground. In her cupped hands, the angel held a glass heart. Donna held the angel up to the light, and it shimmered and refracted the good as if by magic. "This ornament is special. I don't sell anything like it. She's a Christmas angel. A guardian to those under her care. Especially young lovers. She must only be given to someone for whom you care exceedingly deeply."

"I can't accept this."

"Why not? Don't you young whippersnappers have any manners? It's very rude to refuse a gift on Christmas, and it's especially rude to argue with your elders. Do you hear me?" Stiles nodded, and humbly acquiesced. Donna carefully wrapped the angel in white tissue paper and settled her into a pretty red box. She handed him the gift, and he accepted it. "Only give it to someone worthy. Someone special."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good boy. Merry Christmas." Donna bid Stiles goodbye. He tucked the box under his arm, and joined his friends. He hadn't finished his shopping, but he wanted nothing more than to get put of the mall.

"Let's get pizza," he suggested. His Secret Santa present would have to wait until the following day.


End file.
